


Hostile Condition

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reunions, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer 2012, and Alex Rider is working as a volunteer steward at the British Olympics when he realises one of the spectators may not be all he seems - and why is he catching glimpses of a man he believed was dead? </p><p>Written for a prompt of "Warships on the Thames? Anti-aircraft missiles on tower blocks? But that's no use when they're just standing there on that podium..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hostile Condition

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Scorpia Rising, with one spoiler for the events of that book.

Standing on the concrete steps between two dizzyingly steep banks of seating, Alex glanced out across the stadium and allowed himself a smile. It had been a surprisingly good summer so far, the mood of the country was uncharacteristically positive and he found himself carried along by it. He was glad he'd made the decision to come back from America. If nothing else, he had more freedom as a sixteen year old here (and the freshly-acquired ID in his back pocket that proclaimed him to be eighteen helped even more). 

Alex was determined; this would be a fresh start, finally free from the dark events of the last few years. He'd joined the team of Olympic volunteers as a way of passing the time while he waited to hear back from the various colleges he'd applied to, mainly to stop himself dwelling on the likelihood of rejection. He'd spent more time out of school than in it lately, and anything like this he could add to his CV would help immensely. After all, it wasn't as if he could put down the job he'd actually been doing.

Alex snorted quietly and turned back to concentrate on the flood of spectators pouring out of the stairwell into the stands. The step he was on was narrow, and as a heavily-built man pushed past him much too fast Alex slipped. Grabbing at the railing, he just managed to save himself from falling flat on his face and hung there for a second, muttering uncharitable things under his breath and waiting for his heart-rate to slow down.

Staring absently down into the press of people below, Alex froze. Just for a second, he thought he'd seen - but no, it couldn't have been. He straightened up, shaking his head. 

"Seeing things again." Alex sighed with disgust at himself. After Jack's death he'd spent weeks convinced he kept seeing her out of the corner of his eye in people that passed him on the street and in cars, or hearing her voice calling out to him just as he was dropping asleep. It had passed, eventually, and people had been at pains to reassure him that it was a perfectly normal part of bereavement.

This though - why should Alex suddenly think he'd seen - _him_? 

He frowned, more puzzled than anything. Was it just that he'd been thinking about his old life for a moment, that had prompted the association? Or maybe it was the ever-present security alerts, the knowledge that such a high profile event could so easily become a target for anyone with a grudge.

Standing in the open wearing a high-vis tabard, Alex suddenly felt horribly exposed.

"Might as well paint a bloody target on my chest," he sighed. Still, at least for once he was unlikely to be the object of anyone's plans. Deciding he was being ridiculously paranoid, Alex tried to shrug off the mood and turned back to the aisle just in time for the same man as before to barge into him again on his way back up.

"Well excuse _me_ ," Alex called after him irritably. He hadn't actually meant for him to hear, but in his flustered state it came out louder than he'd intended, and the man turned and glared at Alex with a look of such ferocity that Alex almost took a step backwards. Before he could react, the man had turned away and hurried off - but not before Alex's brain had belated put together the memory of the hard object under the man's arm as he'd crashed into him, with the glimpse inside his jacket as he'd turned.

Alex stared after him in shock. It had to have been a camera or something, right? With the searches and bag checks going on, no way could someone have made it inside with an actual gun in a shoulder holster?

Even as he tried to talk himself out of it, Alex's mind was running through all the ways that someone could do exactly that. The security would deter random nut-jobs, but a professional would always find a way.

A professional. Alex felt a shiver run down his spine, and wondered if that was what they meant by someone walking over your grave. The man with the gun had disappeared into the depths of the stairwell where just a moment before Alex had been convinced he'd seen a man supposedly two-years dead, and exactly that kind of professional. Yassen Gregorovich.

Alex was torn. He knew he should alert security, but what did he have other than a fleeting glimpse of something that might or might not have been a gun, and a vague impression he'd seen a man on record as being dead? They'd laugh at him. Even if they took him seriously, did he want to be responsible for a security scare that might turn out to be entirely imaginary?

There was only one thing he could do, Alex decided, abandoning his post and hurrying through the crowds in pursuit. And that was try and make sure one way or the other. 

He made his way down the internal stairwell as fast as possible, ignoring the objections of the spectators coming up. Speed was of the essence, and he clung onto the fact that both other men would be equally moving against the flow.

In a couple of minutes he'd made the entrance level, and groaned in despair at ever finding anyone in this crush. Looking about him for inspiration, Alex almost laughed. It was so obvious, he'd almost missed it. Behind him, the staircase continued going down, chained off with a No Entry sign. 

Trying to look like he belonged there and hoping that his staff-issue vest would prevent anyone challenging him, Alex stepped over the barrier and continued down as fast as he dared.

The lighting was lower down here, and the staircase narrower as it descended into the hidden service areas of the stadium. A door banged somewhere ahead, and Alex slowed his pace, moving with more caution.

He reached the bottom of the staircase, a concrete dead-end with a drift of accumulated rubbish in one corner. The only way forward was a heavy looking metal fire door. Realising it must have been this door he'd heard closing, Alex felt a prickle of nerves at the knowledge his quarry was only just ahead of him.

Alex reached out to the handle, then hesitated. What the hell was he doing? Following at least one potentially armed and dangerous man into a confined space? He sighed. Some things never changed.

Cracking open the door, Alex peered into what appeared to be a dimly-lit service corridor. No-one called out in alarm, so he edged his way through and closed the door silently behind him. The ceiling was oddly raked overhead, and Alex realised he must be under the stands themselves. A distant roar that he'd taken for the hum of a ventilation system suddenly resolved itself into the noise of the crowds above, cheering and stamping in approval.

Alex ducked instinctively, experiencing a wave of sickening claustrophobia. He swallowed, digging his nails into his palms. No good losing it now. He forced himself to straighten up, casting a wary eye upwards. He was realising that if you wanted to cause maximum destruction, bringing down the stands would be a good way to do it. If there was even a chance that the man (men? he still wasn't sure about that) he'd followed down here was bent on an act of terrorism, Alex had to find out, and fast. 

He started running, trainers blessedly silent on the concrete floor. The corridor curved slightly so he couldn't see all that far ahead - it must be following the edge of the arena. Along the sides, all manner of junk was stored - old broken bench seating, stacks of what looked like traffic cones, boxes of cleaning materials. Alex cast about for a suitable weapon, but nothing presented itself.

A glimmer of brighter light caught his attention, and Alex slowed to a stop, panting. A slot was bisecting the wall, running from the ceiling right down to floor level, between two pre-cast blocks. Daylight and fresh air poured in, and Alex coughed the dust out of his throat gratefully. He peered through the gap, curious to see where he was. It was too narrow to get more than his arm through, but he was presented with a perfect view across the track and field of the stadium.

Alex blinked. In the distance, they were setting up for a medal ceremony, a triumphant national anthem that he didn't recognise blaring over the PA system. It occurred to Alex that this was exactly the sort of concealed vantage point that would be perfect for a sniper. Except - everything was too far away, especially if the man had only had a hand-gun. If the podium had been closer - Alex let his eyes roam over the uniform shape of the stands, and realised with a sinking heart that if the structure had a gap in it here, there could equally be matching slots all the way round. 

With a groan, he started running again, reflecting with a grim smile that when he'd volunteered for this job he hadn't imagined he'd end up running his own lap of the Olympic stadium.

He'd passed three of the openings before Alex became aware of movement up ahead, and slowed to a walk, chest heaving and trying not to cough out loud. He crept closer, peering round a stack of abandoned sports equipment and down the next length of corridor. 

Barely a few feet away, a man was kneeling in the dust assembling a huge black rifle. Alex clapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a yelp of surprise. It was the man from the stands, no question. But he hadn't been carrying anything nearly bulky enough to conceal the necessary rifle parts - where had it come from?

Alex's mind slid back to his sighting of Gregorovich in the crowd. Could it really have been him? Had he brought the gun down here in preparation? But why would he do that, then not take the shot himself?

Outside, Alex became aware that the music had stopped, and the distorted voice of an announcer was reading out the medal placings. The man, too, looked up and quickly slammed the final piece into position, standing slowly and bringing the gun to bear on the outside vista.

Frantic now, Alex looked around once more for a weapon. Haste made him careless, and a box he'd been leaning against toppled to the floor with a surprisingly heavy crash.

Alex and the sniper looked up at the same moment and saw each other. The gun swung round to face him in the same instant Alex realised the box he'd knocked over was spilling shot-put balls all over the floor. He flung himself down and heard a muffled crack over his head, chips of concrete stinging his cheek as the silenced bullet bit into the wall behind him.

His fingers scrabbled to lift one of the shots, grunting in surprise at how heavy it was. Alex flung it haphazardly towards his assailant, desperation giving him the strength to get it airborne. He'd envisaged hitting him in the face, so it took both of them by surprise when it dropped short onto the sniper's foot with a satisfying crunch. 

Alex remained rooted to the spot as the man let out an anguished howl, only managing to move as the gun once more came up to aim shakily at him. Skittering backwards, he pulled more boxes down to form an obstruction between them, starting to run back the way he'd come.

He figured he had one chance of survival - that the man would pause long enough to take his original shot at whoever it was out there on the field he was after. The thought itself, of escaping at someone else's expense was enough to make Alex falter. He half turned, tensed to throw himself either way if the situation called for it, but the corridor was empty.

By now the ceremony must be almost over, he knew. As he hesitated, wondering whether to make good his escape or sneak back and distract the man again, a second bloodcurdling howl of anguish echoed up the corridor.

Fighting the instinct to turn and run, Alex waited, his eyes fixed on the turn in the passage. Seconds ticked by, and no-one appeared. Alex frowned. There had been something about the way the scream had tailed off into a wet bubbling noise that had sounded rather - final.

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, Alex padded back up the corridor and edged gingerly into view. The sniper was spreadeagled on the floor, the shaft of a javelin protruding from his back.

Biting his lip, Alex looked around quickly, but other than the apparent corpse, the place was deserted. He crouched by the body, just long enough to establish he was definitely dead, then got warily back to his feet. He briefly entertained the notion that a falling javelin had impaled him accidentally, but the man was well and truly skewered and it seemed rather unlikely.

Which lead to the uncomfortable conclusion that despite the quiet, Alex wasn't alone down here. 

"Hello?" he called out, frowning at the tremor in his voice. "Who's there?" he added, more firmly.

There was no reply, although to Alex's paranoid ears the echoing silence seemed full of any number of hidden watchers. His nerve finally gave out and Alex backed away, only turning to run once he was round the corner.

He ran all the way back without pausing for breath, almost missing the door to the staircase in his haste. A dim emergency light glowing with a fire escape sign caught his eye, and Alex hauled the door open, falling into the stairwell with relief. 

Forcing himself to stop and listen for sounds of pursuit above the blood thundering in his ears, Alex was finally reasonably sure he hadn't been followed. He staggered back up the steps, gripping the handrail thankfully to haul himself along until he emerged back in the bright light of the foyer.

Collapsing onto a bench to get his breath back, Alex wondered what to do. He should alert security - except the threat seemed to have been effectively neutralised, and he might be setting police on the trail of whoever had just saved his life. It seemed a bit ungrateful.

Alex ran a hand through his hair and stood up, making up his mind. Going through official lines would only cause problems and interviews and might even result in him being pulled back into a world he was glad to have left - he was certain his name appearing on a database anywhere would set search programmes flashing in certain discreet offices around the capital. No. As far as he knew, the threat was gone - and a body left in the service tunnels was very much not his problem.

\--

To Alex's heartfelt relief, the rest of the day passed without incident, with no security alerts or reports of dead bodies being discovered occurring to disrupt his afternoon. He was walking home through the park on the way back to his bedsit, enjoying the warmth of the light summer evening when he suddenly got the same feeling he had down in the tunnels - of being watched.

He stopped walking, ostensibly fiddling with the wires of his earphones, but carefully looking all around him. 

There. A figure in the bushes, watching him, standing very still.

Alex looked quickly away, but it was too late to hide the fact he'd seen him. He wondered whether it would be safest to run or to stand his ground, and then the hidden figure was moving out of the shadows and he saw who it was.

He watched, as the man walked slowly across the grass to stand in front of him, without speaking.

"Hello Yassen."

"Alex." A slight nod of acknowledgement, and was Alex imagining it or was there a ghost of an amused smile on his lips?

"You - don't look all that surprised to see me," Yassen said carefully, with a hint of enquiry.

"I saw you earlier. In the crowd." Alex smiled, a little bitterly. "Thought I was imagining things. But then - that was you, wasn't it? In the tunnels?"

"Yes." Yassen sighed.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Alex asked.

"I - thought it best not to involve you. Any more than you were already, anyway. He had an accomplice I needed to go and deal with, and there were - other considerations."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alex demanded, but Yassen just gave a non-committal shrug.

"What happened to the body?" Alex asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He was fairly sure if it had been discovered there would have been some sort of news report.

The twist of a smile was back. "An event such as this generates a lot of waste. The arena has very - _efficient_ incinerators."

Alex winced. Without conferring, they'd both started walking again, making their way slowly along the path, for all the world like two old friends out for an evening stroll. Alex smiled inwardly at the image. What were they, now? He didn't know exactly. Hardly friends, but maybe at least no longer outright adversaries.

They reached a bench and Alex sat down, looking up enquiringly until Yassen joined him after a second's hesitation. For a moment they just sat there, staring out across the grass at the distant dog-walkers, until it occurred to Alex that Yassen had no idea what to say any more than he did. The thought gave him confidence, and he turned to look at him.

"So - what was all that about? Who was that guy, and who was he going to shoot?"

Yassen looked surprised. "You don't know? I'd assumed - "

" - that I was there officially?" Alex actually laughed. "Nah. I just - " he frowned. "Why the hell _was_ I there?"

"You tell me." Yassen sounded like he was trying not to laugh, and Alex glared at him. 

"I saw some guy with a gun and I followed him, okay?"

Yassen was definitely trying not to laugh now, and Alex slapped him on the arm with the back of his hand. "What's so funny?"

"You." Yassen leaned back on the bench and studied him, letting his rather guarded expression drop away for the first time. "I used to think trouble found you, but now it seems you're actively following it."

Alex's indignance gradually melted into a reluctant smile, and he laughed quietly. "I don't know. I guess I just thought I'd make sure of what I'd seen, and then it was too late to get help."

Yassen nodded slowly. "There is a competitor taking part from one of the newly independent Russian states. He is in fact a scientist, not a sportsman, although he has enough talent in that area to pass without comment. He has expressed a wish to - relocate, to Britain."

"Defect, you mean?" Alex guessed, and Yassen nodded.

"Exactly. There are those who would be less than willing to see him go. He travels under close guard at all times, and so it was arranged for him to rather unexpectedly win a medal. He would be swept into the interviews and press area following his victory and from there - disappear into the bosom of a British safe house."

"The government rigged the Olympics?" Alex said incredulously, at the same time wondering why he was surprised.

Yassen shrugged. "It was only a bronze."

Alex opened his mouth and then closed it again, getting the distinct impression that Yassen was teasing him. It was hard to tell.

"So - " Alex reasoned out the rest of it. "His government got wind of what was about to happen and tried to take him out on the podium? Hence the last minute rush?" Yassen nodded, looking pleased with him. 

Alex frowned. "The only thing I don't get is why you were there. Or at least why you killed that guy. It only makes sense if - " he looked up, mouth hanging open. "Are you working for the British government?"

Yassen sighed and nodded, looking, to Alex's eyes, slightly embarrassed.

"Well. That's a first."

"I was given a choice. Work for them, or spend the rest of my life in prison. It wasn't difficult," Yassen said dryly.

Alex processed this silently for a while, then turned back to him with accusing eyes. "All this time - you've been alive?" He realised how silly that sounded, and huffed at himself. "I mean - not locked up or anything? And you never once thought to - " 

He tailed off. Why should he expect Yassen to have made contact with him, after all? For all he knew the guy despised him. The thought was oddly like a splinter of ice in his heart, and for no reason he could explain, Alex was suddenly blinking back tears. He looked away, terrified Yassen would notice.

"Alex." Yassen's voice was low and regretful. "It was one of the conditions of my parole, that I never attempt to contact you."

"Since when have you done what you were told?" Alex muttered, although the ice had melted slightly.

"I'm here aren't I?"

Alex turned back to look at him, and they regarded each other in silence for a moment. 

"I could have done with you, a few times," Alex admitted quietly.

Yassen lifted his hand, and for a split second Alex thought he was going to place it over his own, but then he awkwardly changed direction and scratched his head distractedly.

"I've been working for them for about a year," Yassen explained softly. "Before that - well, they were keen to let me fully appreciate what a lifetime of incarceration would be like." He hesitated, then let his hand rest briefly on Alex's shoulder. "Do you really think, if it had been in my power, I would not have come to you when you needed me?"

There was a lump in Alex's throat, and he stuttered his reply around it. "I - I don't know. Why now then? Why not before?"

"I've said previously, you are better off away from my world, Alex. You seemed to be making your own way, and I didn't want to jeopardise that."

Alex gave a bitter laugh, then stopped and looked suspicious. "How do you know what I was doing?"

Yassen's eyes widened fractionally as he realised he'd been caught out. "Watching isn't technically making contact," he said sheepishly.

"Oh-kay. That's not creepy at all." Alex slumped back against the bench, pushing his legs out in front of him, and sneaking a sideways glance at Yassen. "Seriously. You couldn't have - I don't know - sent me a _Hi Alex I'm not dead_ card?"

Yassen's defensive posture eased a little as he realised Alex wasn't angry. "That would have been breaking the terms of my agreement. They wanted you to go on believing I was dead." He paused. "And - also, truly, I did not know if it was news you would welcome."

Alex looked up in surprise, and saw his own hesitant hopes mirrored in Yassen's expression.

"Well, it is," he said quietly, then sighed. "You know what? Fuck it. Friends?" He held his hand out, eyebrows raised expectantly. After a second, Yassen laughed and took it, fingers curling warmly around Alex's own.

"Friends," he murmured in response, and they shook.

"So." Alex gave him a curious smile. "Why now? You never did answer that."

Yassen's laugh was one of surrender. "Seeing you today, like that? Throwing yourself into danger without a second thought, no planning, no back-up, just following some ridiculous instinct for doing good?" He smiled, expression once more guarded. "I've - missed you, I suppose. Which I have no right to, I accept, given we barely know each other, but - "

It was Alex's hand over his that stopped the flow, and Yassen shut up instantly, looking so grateful for the interruption that Alex almost laughed. He realised it was true, they really did barely know each other past surface impressions. But it was enough, to make him want to know more.

Alex smiled. "Guess I've missed you too," he admitted. "I mean - I'm glad you're not dead."

"Well. Thanks." 

They both laughed, and Alex felt abruptly lighter than he had for months.

"Will you get into trouble?" Alex asked. "If they find out you've spoken to me?"

"Possibly." Yassen looked sideways at him. "It would be better if they didn't find out."

Alex nodded understanding. "Well, I figure between us we should be sneaky enough to manage that."

"True." Yassen stood and Alex followed, willing enough to make a discreet farewell now he knew this time it wasn't forever. He had a lot to think about.

They'd just started to walk in opposite directions when Alex stopped and turned. 

"You never said. What was your guy competing in?" he called.

Yassen looked back at him and pursed his lips in amusement.

"The javelin."

Alex's laughter followed him down the path, and as he stepped back under cover of the trees, he was smiling.


End file.
